Dining With The Devil

Dear Dr. __________,

Today, as you were engaging in a lovely lunch meeting with whom I assume are your obstetric colleages, I was watching you from afar. Sitting across from you in the restaurant, so many painful memories rushed through my mind. I apologize if you do not know what I am speaking of. Let me see if this can refreshen your memory...

On a quiet Thursday night, April 2, 2009, my husband Jason and I arrived at your hospital's labor and delivery department- hoping that our unborn son was doing okay. We told you that I had been having consisting contractions for the past five hours of that day. You checked to see if I was dilated; I wasn't. Attached to sensors, the machine pointed out that my son's heart rate was baseline 180BPM, and even went up to 215BPM. Naturally worried, we asked you if this was a matter to be concerned with. You then giggled with an unprofessional smirk, and told us the baby was just being active. You sent me home with the following discharge instruction, "Do not return until labor pains become unbearable."

You, Dr. _______, were the very last doctor that had contact with my unborn son during his last precious moments of life. Hours after sending me home, my son's heart had stopped beating. Turns out, he was being "active" because he was in distress and crying out for help. He was begging to be induced, begging to be born alive, begging for a chance at life. But I'm sure you know this already, you are a doctor, after all. Oh, how I wish you had given my baby the attention he so desperately deserved.

My heart aches. And at the moment, my anger and pain has been directed solely on you. I hope you understand.

Sincerely,

M. Asuncion